Adventures in Babysitting
Recovery comes from the most interesting and unexpected places. I have run into some financial difficulties, and have taken to picking up odd jobs for some extra cash. One of these, about which I was very skeptical, is babysitting. I wasn't skeptical about babysitting because I don't like kids. I love kids - I love watching their moments of discovery and analysis, I love watching them develop language and reasoning skills, I love being reminded of what it is like to just interact with the world at hand. My skepticism came from my fear that I wouldn't provide for them, that I would miss some vital and obvious clue to ensuring their safety and survival. I have always been self-conscious about my "lack" of maternal instinct. It didn't seem to me that I took to the care-giving of younglings naturally enough (...whatever that means), and I have been picked on for most of my post-adolescent life about my discomfort with children.
Looking at the whole thing logically, it makes sense that I have been uncomfortable around kids. Firstly, I was never around toddlers, much less infants, until my friends and sister started having their own spawn. Even then, I saw them in short spurts with almost no context for their behavior. Beyond this, I'm sure that you've learned that I'm pretty damaged. I very self-conscious about that damage, and I have always been terrified that my damage is less under control than I thought it was (you know, like my dad did). I was terrified that I would damage kids physically, emotionally, or psychologically. I realize now that I thought that these things would happen by my mere presence in their lives. That, somehow, I would lose all recognition of reality and cause immense harm.
So, when I was offering odd jobs (house cleaning, editing, and, yes, babysitting), I was shocked to see that my friends trusted me to be left alone with their little ones. One such person was someone that I haven't seen in nearly a decade. I was also secretly (at the time) that they wanted me to watch their children for extended periods of time - sometimes as long as 12 hours. I was floored, and honored, and terrified, and I needed the money.
And I had a FANTASTIC time.
The until-recently-estranged friend also has two daughters, 11 and 14. Adolescents are a prime concern area for me, since that was the formative bulk of my abuse experience. And I was fine. No nagging thoughts, no desire to cross boundaries. I just had the amused smile of a 28-year-old watching someone half my age go through life things.
For years, my friends, relatives, and therapist have been telling me for years that I am not the deranged, demented, on-the-cusp-of-destroying-lives person that I seem to think that I am. I believed them, inasmuch as anyone can believe something without testing it. But, suddenly, I'm not afraid of causing my children the kind of damage that was done to me. I'm not afraid of reenacting the terror and pain that happened to me. And I'm thankful to my friends who have granted me the trust to watch their little ones. Each time that I do, I am less afraid, more comfortable, more aware.
It almost feels like I'm developing a maternal instinct.
Looking at the whole thing logically, it makes sense that I have been uncomfortable around kids. Firstly, I was never around toddlers, much less infants, until my friends and sister started having their own spawn. Even then, I saw them in short spurts with almost no context for their behavior. Beyond this, I'm sure that you've learned that I'm pretty damaged. I very self-conscious about that damage, and I have always been terrified that my damage is less under control than I thought it was (you know, like my dad did). I was terrified that I would damage kids physically, emotionally, or psychologically. I realize now that I thought that these things would happen by my mere presence in their lives. That, somehow, I would lose all recognition of reality and cause immense harm.
So, when I was offering odd jobs (house cleaning, editing, and, yes, babysitting), I was shocked to see that my friends trusted me to be left alone with their little ones. One such person was someone that I haven't seen in nearly a decade. I was also secretly (at the time) that they wanted me to watch their children for extended periods of time - sometimes as long as 12 hours. I was floored, and honored, and terrified, and I needed the money.
And I had a FANTASTIC time.
The until-recently-estranged friend also has two daughters, 11 and 14. Adolescents are a prime concern area for me, since that was the formative bulk of my abuse experience. And I was fine. No nagging thoughts, no desire to cross boundaries. I just had the amused smile of a 28-year-old watching someone half my age go through life things.
For years, my friends, relatives, and therapist have been telling me for years that I am not the deranged, demented, on-the-cusp-of-destroying-lives person that I seem to think that I am. I believed them, inasmuch as anyone can believe something without testing it. But, suddenly, I'm not afraid of causing my children the kind of damage that was done to me. I'm not afraid of reenacting the terror and pain that happened to me. And I'm thankful to my friends who have granted me the trust to watch their little ones. Each time that I do, I am less afraid, more comfortable, more aware.
It almost feels like I'm developing a maternal instinct.
I think this is a particularly wonderful experience to be recording as your first of the year. May the healing journey ever continue.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
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